


A Taste For Suffering

by stratumgermanitivum



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Asphyxiation, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bondage, Breathplay, Character Death, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Dark Will Graham, Dom Hannibal Lecter, Dom/sub, Don't Try This At Home, Dry Sex, Graphic surgery, Incarcerated Hannibal, Knifeplay, M/M, Murder, Murder Husbands, Not Will or Hannibal, Painful Sex, Painplay, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Read at Your Own Risk, Sub Will Graham, THOSE WERE SOME IMPORTANT TAGS I FORGOT, Whipping, Will Graham on a rampage, extreme kink without a safeword, possibly missing tags, sex with a broken leg, sexualized surgery, would not recommend btw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-05 18:08:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18371339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stratumgermanitivum/pseuds/stratumgermanitivum
Summary: Hannibal Lecter was recaptured on a Tuesday afternoon, nearly five years after he disappeared. He didn’t appear to have aged a day, to Jack Crawford’s irritation. There were whispers amongst the transport crew that he was a modern-day Elizabeth Bathory, bathing in the blood of his victims for eternal youth. Or, rather, eternal middle-age.They imagined they were safe, with Hannibal back behind bars. They didn't count on the rampage Will would go through to get him back.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nephila_clavipes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nephila_clavipes/gifts), [moistdrippings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moistdrippings/gifts).



> Before anyone gets mad at me for starting another WIP, this fic _is entirely finished._ It's just a three-parter. The next two parts will go up as I edit them.

Hannibal Lecter was recaptured on a Tuesday afternoon, nearly five years after he disappeared. He didn’t appear to have aged a day, to Jack Crawford’s irritation. There were whispers amongst the transport crew that he was a modern-day Elizabeth Bathory, bathing in the blood of his victims for eternal youth. Or, rather, eternal middle-age.

They found him in a beach house on an island off the coast of South America, one of a cluster of islands usually used as summer homes for the type of people who called themselves ‘old money.’ In retrospect, they probably should have found _Count Hannibal Lecter VIII_ there much sooner.

They’d been trailing him for four days at that point, always just out of sight, just out of reach. Disappearing around a corner, pulling his boat away from the dock, sympathetic grocery store clerks cooing ‘Lucas? Oh, you just missed him!’

In the end, though, Hannibal could not run forever. They stormed the house with guns drawn. They found him in the kitchen, for Hannibal Lecter could not possibly be found anywhere else, and Jack’s heart skipped a beat when Hannibal slid his blade back into the knife block.

“I suppose it can’t be helped,” He said with a sigh, staring down at the kidney laid out on the cutting board. Jack didn’t need DNA tests to tell him it was human.

“Where’s Will?” Jack asked. Behind him, several of the officers broke from the group to search the rest of the house.

Hannibal smiled slowly, hands raised. “A part of him is always with us, isn’t it?”

Jack’s eyes flicked to the kidney at the same time a small gasp rose from the basement. He swallowed heavily.

“Hannibal Lecter, you are under arrest.”

\-----

The kidney belonged to Will Graham. So did the bloodstains across the concrete basement floor, found all over the room, but concentrated around one particular area below a hook, as well as the drain set into the center of the floor. Blacklights showed that someone had attempted to clean the basement and had not been entirely successful.

Jack had brought Price and Zeller with him, dragging them from other jobs in new cities. It seemed only fair that they should get to be the ones who investigated Lecter’s final crime scene.

The basement had thick, soundproofed walls. When they stepped down the concrete steps to collect evidence, Jack felt a momentary sense of claustrophobia, as if the door might seal them in. There were chains along the walls, cabinets full of ropes and zip ties. A drawer with lovingly-honed knives on display against a plush cushion.

There were similar treasures in the bedrooms, manacles permanently grafted to the headboard in the guest room, trunks of toys and tools at the foot of each bed. The trunk was smaller in the master bedroom, but filled just as worryingly. Blacklights on satin sheets told Jack all he needed to know.

But there was no sign of Will Graham, or what remained of him. Nothing but the pieces.

Hannibal was extradited back to Maryland immediately, drawn home by strings Jack had been pulling for the last five years. Price and Zeller analyzed the kidney in the same lab where they had failed to find Beverly Katz’s.

“Most of what we found leads us back to Will Graham,” Zeller explained when Jack paid them a visit.

“Especially the blood,” Price added, “Although we’ve found traces of at least sixteen other unidentified people, _and_ Lecter himself.”

“So, Will took a bite out of him,” Jack mused. Price and Zeller shared a look.

“Well, you know my theory, Jack,” Zeller said.

“We all know your theory,” Jack growled. “Will Graham didn’t leave Maryland under his own power.”

“He’d been sympathetic towards Lecter from the beginning of the Red Dragon incident. It was his idea to use Lecter as bait. Lounds called them _Murder Husbands_.”

“Will was sympathetic to Lecter,” Jack agreed, “He was also furious with him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d gone after Lecter himself, after Dolarhyde was killed. Dolarhyde’s camera didn’t pick up most of the fight, we still don’t know where some of that blood came from.”

“This is Will’s kidney,” Price reminded them, indicating the organ with a gloved finger, “And there’s likely a reason Lecter saved it for last. Will was suffering from kidney failure. Lecter probably ate the other organs first and then pulled this one out just to mess with you. You said he didn’t seem surprised when he was arrested.”

“Or,” Zeller insisted loudly, “The kidney is a part of some bigger ruse and we should all be checking under our beds for Graham.”

“That’s enough!” Jack shouted. Zeller flinched. “Will Graham is innocent until proven guilty, is that clear?”

“Crystal,” Zeller muttered.

_____

Where is Will Graham?”

Hannibal leaned back in his seat, as far as the handcuffs binding him to the table would allow. He looked entirely at ease, though the rough fabric of the prison jumpsuit was nothing like the intricate suits he’d always preferred.

At least, he had preferred them in Maryland. South of the equator, the heat must have gotten to him. The closet had held shorts and soft cotton shirts in Lecter’s sizes, as well as several size smalls that made Jack uneasy. It did not surprise him that Lecter would want to play dress-up with his captive. What surprised him was the abundance of ‘comfort’ clothing, ratty flannels that mimicked the casual wear Will Graham had preferred while living in Wolf Trap.

Zeller had been smug as they picked apart the clothes for more evidence. Jack had ignored him. The manacles on the bed spoke for themselves, he thought. Perhaps Will had been rewarded for good behavior, encouragement for captor-bonding.

“Now, Jack, surely you have better things to ask about. They didn’t fund a five-year man hunt so you could ask me about an old colleague.

“ _Where is Will Graham_?” Jack growled again. Hannibal smiled. It was not a pleasant smile, not one that had faced Jack across dinner tables and crime scenes. This was a cruel smile, the smile of a man who had Jack exactly where he wanted.

If the interrogation rooms were not monitored, Jack might have punched him.

“Wasn’t the piece you took from me enough?”

“You weren’t going to eat that,” Jack told him, “Your nose is too good. You would have known Will’s kidney was failing long before he did.”

“So I did,” Hannibal mused, “It was an awful smell, Jack. It poisoned his sweetness with a pungent, sour note. I was lucky to catch it before the failure had a chance to damage him too much.”

Jack would never have associated any part of Will Graham with the word ‘sweet,’ but Hannibal said it with a softness in his voice that Jack would generally associate with a beloved pet or particularly prized curio.

They’d found traces of semen on the sheets. Not only Hannibal’s. It sent a shiver down Jack’s spine.

“You knew we were coming,” Jack said, “You brought the kidney out to mess with my head.”

“Perhaps I only wanted to say goodbye,” Hannibal suggested, in a tone that implied he was bored with the entire affair. Jack glared at him.

“You can live without a kidney.”

“You can,” Hannibal agreed, “There are many things you can live without. Gallbladders, appendixes. Will Graham never had his tonsils removed, you know.”

“You couldn’t have eaten everything. That was never your motive. You were downright wasteful in your kills, always leaving table scraps.”

“Only for the ones you found,” Hannibal said with a smile. He had implied before that there were others, at his first trial, but no one had ever been able to put a number to the victims that didn’t end up on display.

“Well, we found a body in your deep freezer, as well as pieces of at least three other victims and trace DNA from several more. Yet not a single bit, a single _bite_ , of Will Graham. You knew we were coming. You were waiting for us, you would have had time to hide him.”

“You’ll find no more of Will than you already have,” Hannibal told him. “Everything there is to find was in my home. I don’t keep a summer home anymore, Jack, there’s no point when you live somewhere with weather so fair. Don’t you have other questions to ask me?”

Jack did, in fact, a whole list of them, and he was sure that the people beyond the door were growing impatient with him. There would be other interviews. Perhaps, if they got Hannibal in a good enough mood, he would feel more magnanimous later. Will Graham, if he was alive, had survived five years with Hannibal The Cannibal. He could survive a few more days.

“Who was Nicolai Kostov?” Jack asked through gritted teeth.

“Ah, Nicolai. Tourists can be so rude, don’t you think?”

_____

“Tell me you found something,” Jack begged when he returned to the lab. He was exhausted from several hours of Lecter dancing through questions, dropping enough breadcrumbs to make Jack queasy when it came to his other victims, and avoiding the subject of Will Graham entirely. He’d been grinning when Jack left him, wide and carefree, far more honest than any expression he’d ever worn in front of Jack before.

“We found something,” Zeller assured him, looking pale and uncomfortable.

“You’re going to hate it,” Price added.

They’d plastered every surface with photos of Lecter’s house. Tools that had been picked up from the basement were carefully spread over lab tables. Jack hated it already.

“We established early on that Lecter and Graham were involved in some sort of sadomasochistic activities,” Zeller said, indicating a photo of the bed. “We think that might have been an understatement.”

“Investigations of the house in Cuba found tools tucked into every room,” Jimmy explained, “Ropes and chains tucked under countertops. Scalpels inside all the first aid kits- and there were a _lot_ of first aid kits, Jack - Sex toys lovingly wrapped and hidden under and inside furniture for easy access.”

“We found a _ball gag_ and a _paddle_ in the _couch cushions,”_ Zeller said, “Literally zipped into the cushion itself, like a really horrific present.”

“And that’s not even mentioning all the bodily fluids. Traces of semen and blood all over the house. A few spots of urine. A treasure trove of DNA evidence pointing directly to Will Graham as the victim of severe sexual sadism.”

“Or they’re into watersports,” Zeller complained.

Price paused and turned to him with a raised eyebrow.

“What?” Zeller asked, flushing, “That’s what it’s called. With the… With the urine.”

“I know that. Why do _you_ know that?”

“It’s on the internet!”

“Yeah, but you had to be looking- “

“I wasn’t looking!” Zeller yelped, “You don’t have to look, it’s the _internet_!”

“Can we get back to work?” Jack yelled, when it looked as though the argument could go on for quite some time.

Zeller had the decency to look embarrassed, but Price was immune. He turned instead to the photos, jabbing at one in particular. “We found traces of Will Graham’s blood all over the house, dated to various times over the last few years. This one, though…”

It was the faint, spreading discoloration that had been found beneath the hook in the basement. It made Jack nauseous to look at.

“This stain is large enough to exsanguinate a man,” Price explained gently, a look of pity on his face. “It could have been from the day Will’s kidney was removed. Or, it’s possible Lecter got bored. Butchers hang their meat to drain it,”

“And _I_ think they got carried away in their 50 Shades of Murder,” Zeller piped up.

“Based on what evidence?” Jack asked.

“Lecter was a neat freak,” Zeller explained. “We found traces of evidence throughout the house, yes, but that could just be because of how much there was to find. He never would have left that much blood long enough to let the stain set. They were playing Master and Servant, and Lecter got a little carried away. Nicked an artery. He would have had to leave the mess to get Graham stitched back together.”

“Even if you’re right about him stopping to fix his mistake, it’s possible Will didn’t survive the night,” Price argued, “And maybe Lecter was just too hungry to wait.”

“Hungry enough to eat an entire body?” Zeller rolled his eyes, “We didn’t find anything but the kidney. Graham’s out there, and he’s going to be _pissed_.”

“The presence of sexual activity isn’t enough to infer consent.”

“Lecter never showed any proclivities towards rape,” Zeller insisted.

“He never showed any proclivities towards cannibalism either,” Price pointed out, “Right up until he did.”

Jack picked up the picture, staring at it. It was a lot of blood to spice up someone’s sex life. A lot of mess for a man who’d never left a drop of evidence before, never left a mess he didn’t mean to make. Manacles hooked to the headboard, but Will Graham’s comfortable flannels in the closet. A series of expensive wines next to aged whiskeys. Jack couldn’t think about it. He didn’t want to think about it.

“Your objection has been noted, Zeller,” Jack said, sliding the photo into his pocket. “Show me what else you have.

_____

“Will Graham is alive,” Jack said when he sat before Hannibal a few days later.

Hannibal smiled, patient and easy-going.

“Of course he is, Jack. Do you think I’d have put all that effort into seducing him, let you lock me up for years of isolation, just to kill him?”

No, Jack hadn’t thought that. But he’d hoped. “Where did you hide him?”

Hannibal sighed. “Oh, Jack. And you were doing so well.”

Jack had been through too much at this point to put up with being condescended to by ‘Hannibal the Cannibal’ Lecter. He smacked his fist against the table.

“You’ve been in his head for a decade,” He growled, “You were his only source of companionship for the past five years. What did you do with him?”

“Nothing he didn’t ask me for.” Hannibal told him, still smiling that damnable, indulgent smile.

“You abducted Will from the site of Francis Dolarhyde’s death,” Jack said, “He was heavily injured. We found his blood all over the cliffside. Maybe you coddled him a little. Maybe he was even grateful to you for patching him up instead of leaving him to die. You took him out of the country with you, set up roots on your little island, where you proceeded to rape and torture him for the next five years.”

“Will was free to leave at any time,” Hannibal said. Jack pressed on.

“Between the chains that bound him to the bed and the rope you kept next to the cutting boards? Or maybe those weren’t necessary. Captor bonding is key to any victim’s survival. And we know you rewarded good behavior. We found Will’s usual style of casual clothing in your closet, next to the suits in his size. The whiskey in the liquor cabinet matched brands he was known to keep in his home. If pleasing you was the key to his survival, well, any man would have stepped lightly.”

“It’s a lovely story you’ve woven, Jack, but I think I prefer the truth.”

“And what _is_ the truth, Dr. Lecter?”

Something sharp took up residence in Hannibal’s smile, a hint of fang, of sickening pleasure. “If you’d listened to Will Graham years ago, you would already know.”

He refused to say any more about Will.

_____

Freddie Lounds wrote an article about it, because of course she did. There was nothing else guaranteed to make Jack’s life worse than to be confronted with an article about Will Graham’s five years of rape and abuse at the hands of the Chesapeake Ripper. Before Jack had even had his morning coffee.

It was a new tactic for Lounds, who’d been touting the Murder Husbands headline since long before Will disappeared. She sold merchandise. Zeller had a mug.

But somehow, through her sources, Lounds had found out about the chains, about the thin, braided whip. And she’d spun a new story.

It was fascinating, how she could write an article about a victim of rape and abuse that still painted him as a psychopath, just ripe for Hannibal’s particular tutelage. She ascribed Hannibal’s known recent kills to the both of them, Will lashing out at those around him to please his captor and earn scraps of affection.

It was the same theory Price had posited, that Jack himself had considered. It sounded filthier and more sordid coming from Lounds. Somehow, one reached the end of the article feeling much more negatively towards poor, abused Will Graham.

And apparently, poor, abused Will Graham took offense.

_____

Jack knew. Perhaps he had always known, from the moment Will Graham disappeared. Or even before.

He’d tried not to know. He’d tried to tell himself a thousand different stories, different paths Will could have chosen. Different options, anything but the reality.

And the reality was a dead body in the basement of an expensive Baltimore townhouse.

Harrison James was found hanging from a hook in his ceiling. He’d been beaten extensively with a whip, before being bled dry. The blood had been left to cover the floor, spreading out beneath him. According to the acquaintance who’d discovered him, the hook and the whip belonged to James. The rope, a coarse and fraying skein from a hardware store, did not. Apparently, his killer had not found James deserving of the soft bondage ropes he kept in a chest of drawers across the room.

The body had been ripped open. It lacked the surgical precision of the Chesapeake Ripper, but Jack could see where the inspiration had been drawn. It looked as though the killer had attempted to bind him with his own intestines and found them lacking. Then taken his frustration out on the rest of the organs.

There had been a hook in Hannibal’s basement, and a stain from a pool of blood like this one. Jack did not need Will Graham’s empathy disorder to track this killer down.

_____

“James was beaten before his death,” Price said when Jack joined them in the lab, “With a belt, at the very least, and several of the implements Harris kept in the basement.”

The implements in question were displayed in photographs across another table. There had not been a belt at the scene.

“He’s also missing a kidney,” Zeller added, sounding entirely too smug, “The Ballad of Two Murder Husbands.”

“He’s been calling it that all day,” Price told Jack, “I don’t think he’s ever going to let it go.”

“That I knew and you two were in denial? No, I’ll cling to that victory until my death of old age.”

“Or heart disease,” Price muttered. It did not deter Zeller’s victorious pleasure.

Jack could remember Will’s startled hesitation at the site of the Angel Maker’s killers. The cold, analytical distance of his Quantico lectures. The lovingly detailed way he described Hannibal’s kills, with a horrified and admiring awe.

Jack looked down at the body, neatened up by careful hands, laid out for perusal. He could see Will Graham in every cut. It chafed at his skin like an ill-fitting suit. This was what Lecter had done to him. This was what _Jack_ had done to him.

Freddie Lounds had a new article by the time Jack got back to his office, all about the perils of Stockholm Syndrome. Jack threw his mouse across the room.

_____

Jack didn’t wait to pull Hannibal into an interrogation room this time. He headed straight for the BSHCI, now under Chilton’s care again. Alana had yet to return from her self-imposed exile, even with Hannibal safely behind bars once more. Or rather, glass. Chilton had not offered Hannibal the army of conveniences Alana had been coaxed towards, but the cell had been gathering dust without him, and he was much more well behaved when kept from other inmates.

Jack stormed the room with a rage budding behind his eyes, the start of a headache. Hannibal smiled at him benignly through the thick glass. “Have you come to ask more questions, Jack?”

Jack pressed the photo to the glass and watched as Hannibal Lecter’s face changed from curious to _rapturous_.

“Harrison James. Age 34. Killed and staged in his own basement. Just like you were known to stage your victims.”

“Not quite,” Hannibal murmured, “This has a bit of its own finesse, don’t you think?”

“Missing a _kidney,”_ Jack continued, “Beaten and bruised. And drained of all his blood, staining his concrete basement floor.”

“I’ve yet to hear a question, Jack.”

“He was also the owner of an exclusive BDSM club, known to bring lovers home from work. Male lovers. He was last seen leaving the club with one of these lovers. The man was described as tall, clean shaven, with a scar across his cheek and a head full of goddamn curls.”

Hannibal stared at Jack, silent and waiting. Jack bit back a growl.

“Is Will Graham trying to tell me something?”

Hannibal’s grin grew teeth. “You’re finally asking the right questions, Jack. And now a question of my own: Are you finally willing to listen?”

“I listened to Will Graham.”

“You listened when it suited you. When Will was using his innumerable talents to tell you what you wished to hear. Never when Will tried to tell you something about himself.”

“And this is Will telling me about himself?”

“He told me once that he attempted to quit, and you refused to let him. Are you listening now, Jack?”

“I’m listening,” Jack insisted. Hannibal quirked his head and adopted a quizzical expression.

“And what do you hear, Jack?”

“What do I hear?” Jack pulled away in disgust. “Are you trying to tell me that all of that- All the knives and chains, the kidney, all of that was your idea of a consensual BDSM relationship?”

“I’m not the one speaking, Jack, I’m not trying to tell you anything. He’d be displeased if he knew you were expecting me to speak for him again.”

“Is _Will Graham_ trying to tell me he was with you willingly? That he was letting you do these things to him for… For what? Sexual gratification?”

“Everything but the kidney,” Hannibal confirmed, “I’m afraid that was medical necessity. Although we did take advantage of the opportunity.”

“The amount of blood we found all over your house doesn’t speak to Safe Sane and Consensual, Dr. Lecter.”

Hannibal shrugged. “Accidents happen, Jack, even to the best of us. But Will appreciated the scar.”

“You bled him like a goddamn hunting trophy.”

Hannibal stepped as close as the glass would allow. His eyes were dark. “Are you still trying to find ways to blame me for this, Jack? Still trying to fit us into the narrative you spun of the poor, abducted Special Agent? I assure you, we were both enthusiastic participants. We even had a safe word, for a while.”

“What do you mean ‘for a while?’”

Jack had played right into Hannibal’s hands. He could see the spark of excitement in Hannibal’s eyes. Jack had the sudden profound feeling of stepping into someone else’s bedroom, as if he’d been forcibly dragged into something he wanted no part of.

“Will gave it up, about two years ago. His anniversary gift to me. I suppose that _might_ fit your narrative, although I assure you, if he were to use it, I’d still respect it. He chooses not to, and I choose to let Will make his own decisions. Perhaps if you had done the same, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

Jack slammed a fist against the glass. Hannibal did not so much as flinch.

“Just tell me why he’s doing this,” Jack hissed.

“Well, Jack, he was hardly going to stand by and let me have all the credit. You did him a disservice, anyway. We followed all the press releases you gave on us. He was always quite displeased that you thought him so weak as to be nothing more than my captive.”

Jack was silent, glowering. Hannibal continued.

“I can’t wait until you see him again, Jack. He really is quite beautiful, now that he’s blossomed.

_____

Frederick Chilton did not show up for work the next morning. His home was empty, undisturbed except for the open bedroom window.

Jack stared up at it and wondered how many more people he was going to fail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... For once I don't have really long end notes. I really liked writing Jack's POV, poor guy. He just wants to save the world (and Will) from a _cannibal serial killer._ I think we forget that he is technically the good guy lol. 
> 
> I promised this to Moist and Neph AGES ago. Well, here it is! But you don't get any of the good bits until chapter 2.
> 
> Thanks to Nicevensilace for the title, which comes from the definition of masochism!
> 
> Next time: We flash back to some of those things Hannibal implied. Including the safeword thing. Also, Hannibal and Will are bad demonstrations of BDSM and you should not learn from them.
> 
> Since tumblr imploded you can find me on [my twitter.](https://www.twitter.com/stratumgermani1)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YO HEY I FORGOT SOME TAGS WHEN I FIRST POSTED SO BEST CHECK THOSE NOW
> 
> This chapter is pretty much entirely fucking.

They did, eventually, wind up at ‘making love,’ but they took a longer route to get there than Will might have expected, given Hannibal’s pretentious particularities. Will had not thought much about it before, beyond hazy, vaguely guilty thoughts, and the occasional blurry dream. On the rare occasion he _did_ allow himself to wonder what Hannibal would be like in bed, it had involved silk sheets and careful planning.

Instead, the first time they shared their bodies with each other, it could only be described as ‘fucking.’ Desperate, needy copulation.

They had dragged themselves out of the sea with little plan. They spent the first night of their recovery holed up in some poor dead sailor’s seaside shack, waiting for the cavalry Hannibal had sent for. Hannibal’s ribs were bruised, his breathing shallow. Will’s face had been stitched with careful, hesitant hands, tight surgeon stitches making his face go stiff, muffling his voice. Will’s leg was broken.

None of that stopped them.

“I thought you were going to die,” Will breathed, drawing Hannibal over him in the cramped cot, hands trembling where they clutched at his shirt, “I thought I’d killed you.”

“I thought I was going to let you,” Hannibal whispered against his jaw. And then they were kissing, and it was like they had kissed a thousand times before, like they were old lovers, like they _knew_ each other.

Hannibal moved over him, against him, and he was hard, thick and hot against Will’s thigh, and Will ached every time he tried to move but he couldn’t help himself. He could no longer put away the part of him that ached for Hannibal in return.

“Off.” It was Will’s voice that broke the silence, demanding, _pleading_. He tugged at the hem of Hannibal’s shirt until he obliged, then his pants, until Hannibal was bared to him in his entirety.

Will’s clothing proved more of a barrier. The shirt came off easily enough, but the cry of pain Will gave as they tried to tug his jeans off stopped Hannibal in his tracks.

“Will, we should-“

“No,” Will growled. It was now or never, or so it felt. He could not go back to before. He’d come too far. But he also couldn’t work the pants off himself, not with his leg as pained as it was. “Help me.”

Hannibal helped him work the last of his clothes off, over his leg. Will held his breath until the fabric passed over his ankles. He leaned back against the pillow, his face pale, taking in the mottled, blackened bruise that spread over his shin.

Hannibal hovered over him, still whole, still in one piece, but for the bandages wrapped around his middle. He certainly didn’t move like someone who’d been shot; he’d carried Will across the threshold like it was something he did every day. Will propped himself up on his elbows, gritting his teeth through the pain, and leaned in for another kiss. Hannibal’s mouth was gentle against his. He pulled back to give Will a once-over. The fierceness of their earlier passion had faded, replaced with a concern that rattled Will to his core.

“Don’t you dare take pity on me now,” Will hissed, yanking him down with an arm around his shoulders. Hannibal settled between his thighs, pressing his undamaged leg out further to make more room.

“We don’t have anything,” Hannibal began. Will interrupted him to draw Hannibal’s fingers up to his mouth, wetting them thoroughly.

“It’s not my first rodeo,” he explained, drawing an unexpected snarl from Hannibal. He was rough with Will, opening him up in sharp jerks of his hand that shifted Will’s hips on the thin mattress, jarring his leg and drawing low whines from Will’s throat.

It was not his first rodeo, but Hannibal was big, imposing as he worked his way into Will’s body with short thrusts of his hips. And, more importantly, he was _Hannibal_. Will threw his head back and wrapped his good leg around Hannibal’s, drawing him in, holding him close.

Their heartbeats hammered together in their chests. Hannibal slowed his motions, deep rolls that sent sparks and agony through Will’s body. Pleasure and suffering, overlapping. Hannibal reached down between them and found Will soft against his own thigh.

“Will-“

“Don’t,” Will begged. His voice was choked with tears, eyes shut tight against the pain. “Don’t stop.”

Hannibal’s gaze was a physical weight on Will’s skin. He watched him for a long moment, long enough for Will to flush, deep and dark. Then he leaned in, cupped Will’s jaw and kissed him thoroughly.

“Alright,” He whispered against Will’s mouth, “Alright, anything you say.”

He did not hold back. He fucked Will like things were normal, like they were healthy and whole and in a bed built for two. He kissed marks into Will’s neck, caressed his chest, the stiff peaks of his nipples. Will’s leg jerked with every motion. He bit back his screams, held them in hard enough to draw beads of blood to his lips.

He did not ask Hannibal to stop. He tilted his hips up, begged for more.

He was still soft when Hannibal finished inside him, hiding a ragged gasp in Will’s shoulder. Will didn’t care. He sank his teeth into Hannibal’s collarbone, muffling a sob as he clung.

Later, Hannibal would set his leg properly, secure it into a splint and cart Will around the boat they used to flee the country, carrying Will like an infant, or, more likely, a bride. Will would pretend to hate it and flush with pleasure when Hannibal couldn’t see.

But for now, they held each other, in suffering and pain and joy.

_____

It wasn’t that they were never gentle. There were nights where they were soft and slow with each other, where they moved together in careful thrusts, easy, sweet.

It was just that… Well, Will had gotten a taste for blood, with the Dragon. A taste for Hannibal’s particular blend of violence and pain.

So, sometimes, when Hannibal kissed him sweetly, cradled his jaw like he was something breakable… Will bit down. Nipped hard enough at Hannibal’s lip to break the skin, rolled him onto his back, fought for control. Wrestled with Hannibal until Hannibal was forced to pin his wrists, hold him down while Will arched and kicked beneath him. It always riled Hannibal up, too, made him fuck Will harder or ride him faster, whatever they were in the mood for.

They did not play around with teeth and nails. When Will bit, he bit hard, broke the skin and lapped blood from his marks.

It was always worse after a kill. Hannibal was precise, cautious. Will was impatient and eager. He knew now how it felt, when life flitted away under his hands. He had seen the exact look in a man’s eyes when he bled out, had held a heart in his hands as it beat it’s last.

When Will came to the basement to play, the screams were always louder.

Hannibal was Hannibal, though. He could look inside Will’s head as easy as Will looked inside a body. He could see him.

_____

Will was still covered in blood the first time it happened, the first time Hannibal truly _understood_. He’d looked at Will, across the cooling corpse, at the way Will’s hands dripped. At the thorough look of _disappointment_ on Will’s face.

“I was hoping he’d last longer,” Will complained. He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and streaked a line of red in its place. “I had plans.”

Hannibal was silent, as he made his way around the table. Silent, watchful. Will eyed him, wary. His heart stuttered and skipped. Something in him, something feral and wild, told him to run. Hannibal took a step closer. His eyes were dark. He was still holding a scalpel.

Will turned and raced for the stairs. Hannibal followed him, too eager to hide heavy footsteps. He crashed into Will’s back halfway up, toppling him to the ground. The hard concrete of the steps bruised Will’s ribs. He gasped for breath as Hannibal ripped the fabric of his pants open with the scalpel, leaving lines of red where he’d gone too deep.

Will didn’t tell him to stop.

He struggled, gripping the stairs and trying to pull himself up to his knees. Hannibal pinned his hands to the small of his back and held the scalpel against his Adam’s apple. Will froze, completely still.

Will didn’t tell him to stop.

Hannibal fucked him on the stairs, just like that, working him open with lube he’d kept in his pocket, and his own cock, no free hands left to ease the way. Will squirmed and whined and came all over himself when Hannibal jerked too hard and left a red line across his throat. And then another, on purpose, to coax another moan from Will.

Will didn’t tell him to stop.

_____

“How long have you been sexually aroused by pain?”

They weren’t even fucking, when Hannibal asked. Will might have been better prepared, had they been. Instead, they were eating dinner. Will choked on a mouthful of liver, swallowing it down with a too-generous sip of wine. He glared at Hannibal. Hannibal stared back, cool and collected.

“Well?” Hannibal asked, looking as if he had all the time in the world to wait for Will’s answer.

Will’s first instinctive response was _fuck you_. He swallowed that, thankfully, along with another mouthful of wine. “Sadomasochism is a common kink,” He said. Hannibal eyed him for a long moment, then stood, crossing the room to stand before Will. Will tilted his head back, looking up at him, hand clenched in a fist next to his steak knife. They hadn’t harmed each other since the Dragon, outside of sex, but old defenses were hard to let go of.

Hannibal backhanded him across the face. Will’s hand didn’t so much as twitch.

His cheek was hot, a red mark burning. Will stared at his plate, wide eyed.

“Fuck you!” This time, Will said it out loud, turning his ire on Hannibal. Hannibal smacked him again, the other cheek this time, and then gripped him by the hair, tilting his head back until Will winced and shifted in his seat.

“It’s not just the pain, is it?” Hannibal mused, tracing a finger over the marks he’d left. “You crave the submission as well.”

Will bared his teeth at that. The knife was still well within reach, but it was his teeth that sank into Hannibal’s flesh, the soft skin of his arm where it came too close to Will’s face.

Hannibal used the grip on Will’s hair to drag him out of his seat, forcing him down to the ground with another hand on his throat. Will gasped for breath, wheezing as Hannibal pressed down, sealing off his airway bit by bit.

“Not just submission,” Hannibal said, “You don’t want to give in to me. You want me to _earn_ it. You want me to prove I’m worthy of you.”

Will would not have had an argument for that, even if his vision hadn’t been going dark around the edges. It struck too deep into his chest. Hannibal pulled his hand back and kissed him before he could catch his breath. Will gasped and choked against his mouth, shoving at Hannibal’s chest and moaning when Hannibal pressed his hands back, securing them to the leg of Will’s chair with his tie. It was a paltry attempt at bondage; the chair was light enough for Will to move, but what Hannibal did next was far from paltry.

He set his teeth to Will’s shoulder and returned the bite, sinking into the sensitive flesh, biting down until Will felt tissue give way, until his shoulder was damp and he was sobbing with the pain of it.

“You can have whatever you want, Will,” Hannibal said, his mouth slick with Will’s blood, “You should know that by now.”

_____

Things spiraled, from there.

They had a safeword. _Chesapeake._ Will had never used it. He never would. If Hannibal did something Will didn’t like, Will fought back. If Hannibal wanted to do it anyway, he had to settle Will first, and Will did not go easy.

The marks grew. Hannibal was bruised more often than not. One memorable week, he canceled an outing to the opera in deference to the black eye Will had given him, a mark he’d repaid with the snap of his belt while Will screamed, sounds caught by the thick basement walls.

Some nights, Will was more eager to obey. He was never quite _docile_ , always slightly feral, a hint of danger in the glint of his eyes, but some nights he would play the part of a good boy, earn Hannibal’s praise as well as his touch.

And some nights, he went down swinging, forced Hannibal to chain him down and slice marks of ownership into his skin.

Will’s masochism seemed to have no end. He welded manacles to the headboard in the guest bedroom, not daring to touch Hannibal’s antique furniture set in the master. Hannibal rewarded the surprise by using it, securing Will in place and then pulling out the knife.

The scalpel was sharper. It cut through Will’s skin before he even knew it was there, and left cold fire in its wake. But the knife…

Hannibal had used the same knife to gut a man the week before, to rip his insides out while he still breathed. Now, he used it on Will, carving a line down his chest that left Will gasping.

The cold air stung against each cut. Hannibal carved patterns across Will’s skin, sliced him over and over until his chest was a mess of blood. He looked at Will, hard and aching and writhing on Hannibal’s cock, and licked a path across the cuts. Will arched his hips, begging for more.

_____

For their first anniversary, Will gave Hannibal a set of cufflinks, purchased from a local shop Hannibal frequented. For the second, he gave Hannibal a man, trussed and gagged, ripe for torment.

For the third, he gave Hannibal a box.

It was not a ring box, however much it might look like one. As far as the people in town were concerned, they were already married, and proposals were more Hannibal’s thing, besides. In fact, Will knew Hannibal was already planning one, probably for spring, given the soft, thinner material of the suit he’d hidden in the same place as the ring Will had found weeks earlier. Had it been a ring, Hannibal would have been simultaneously thrilled and furious with Will for beating him to the punch.

It was not a ring. Inside the box was a small, folded slip of paper, with one word on it. _Chesapeake._

Hannibal looked up at Will. Will smiled at him, but the corner of his lip twitched and his hands were trembling. It was a risky move. Hannibal could be disappointed in him for taking such a risk. Or he could be eager to take Will up on such an offer. Will wasn’t entirely sure which prospect made him more nervous.

“Will,” Hannibal said, a slow, breathy noise that sent chills down Will’s spine, “Will, are you sure?” His voice was cautious, but his hands had a death grip on the box. Will suspected if he were to try and take it back now, he’d find the task difficult.

Instead, he tilted his head back, baring his throat in a show of submission. It was just that, of course, a show, but it lit a fire under Hannibal. Hannibal tossed the box aside, wrapping his arms around Will. He clutched Will close with one hand tangled tightly into his hair, tilting Will’s head back to bite bruises into his throat.

“I’m afraid I’ll make you regret this,” Hannibal whispered. His voice was hoarse, thick with emotion. Will smiled and tilted his head, just to feel the tug at his scalp. “You’re welcome to try.”

Curiosity was a dangerous look on Hannibal Lecter. Curiosity had killed people. Curiosity had boiled Will’s brain in his skull. Curiosity had brought them here, to this island.

Curiosity, Will was learning, was a hell of a drug.

“You’ve given me a gift,” Hannibal murmured. The phrasing pulled a flinch from Will, but it also sent a shiver through him. He had given Hannibal a very rare gift indeed. He wasn’t entirely sure how he was going to top it next year.

“I have,” Will agreed, “What are you going to do with it?”

Hannibal made up his mind almost immediately, backing up towards the hallway with his fingers still firmly twined in Will’s curls. Will followed, flooded with a heady blend of anticipation and terror that did nothing to quell the heat of arousal that burned low in his belly.

Hannibal led him down the stairs, to the hook in the center of the basement. Will had installed it himself, had spent long hours hiding various hooks and loops all over the house. And even longer hours with Hannibal, testing them out.

Technically, the hook was for their victims, a place to drain them dry when it came time to harvest the meat, but Will had seen his fair share of it. Normally, a part of the game was for Hannibal to force him to it, but today, Will stood placidly beneath and raised his hands for Hannibal to bind.

Hannibal gave him an odd little smile, the look of a man given everything he’d ever wanted, and completely unsure of what to do with it.

“Anything you like,” Will told him, answering a question that had gone unspoken.

“And what about what _you_ would like?”

Will shrugged, as much as he could with Hannibal shackling his wrists to the hooks. “I get off on you getting off, you know that.”

“And on the pain,” Hannibal said, thoughtful. He disappeared behind Will, and after a moment, Will heard the tell-tale clink of the pully system. The hook raised, lifting Will’s heels off the ground until he was on his toes, struggling to keep his balance. He barely touched the ground, enough to steady himself, with some focus, but not enough to alleviate the strain in his arms and shoulders, or enough to truly feel secure. One wrong move could have him floating entirely, swinging and scrambling to find his footing once more. Will moaned.

A large hand came to rest between his shoulder blades. Hannibal caressed him where his muscles strained the most, then down, over his side, light enough for Will to bite back an uncomfortable laugh. Hannibal had always been amused by how ticklish Will was. Eager for pain, and completely unable to tolerate gentle touch. There was probably something to psychoanalyze in that, if Will would have let him.

Hannibal pulled back. The first snap echoed in the room, startling Will worse than the sharp line of pain that striped across his back.

They’d played with the bull whip only a handful of times before, but Will recognized the feeling. Long feet of braided brown leather, tapering out into a thin strand that sliced through skin like butter if you weren’t careful. Or if you were trying. It was the obvious choice for tonight’s game; it left a deeper cut and a sharper ache than any of their other tools. On a good night, Will could take four or five good swings. Tonight, he took four or five in the first minute of the game.

Hannibal striped his back with a series of blows, each one worse than the last. His assaults were random, untimed. Impossible for Will to follow, to brace for. He could feel his skin breaking open, split and bleeding. The whip came down against the soft skin of Will’s ass, and he screamed.

Hannibal was there immediately, pressed up against Will’s back, irritating his cuts. Will’s back was a mess of torn skin, puffy and irritated, burning from the salt of their combined sweat. Will pushed forward as much as he could, desperate to get away. Hannibal hauled him back with a hand on his throat, cutting off his flow of oxygen.

“I’m not done with you yet, my darling.”

Will let out a choked moan, feet scrambling for purchase against the floor. Hannibal tightened his grip, until even that wheezing desperation was no more. Hannibal was hard, pressed up into the cleft of Will’s ass, a slow grind that added to the flurry of sensations, each impossible to focus on, blending together. Hannibal’s cock caught against his entrance, pressed forward in nothing more than the cruelest of teases. Will’s vision went dark at the edges.

Hannibal let him go. He stepped back, abandoning Will entirely. Will lost his footing and sobbed as his wrists and shoulders took all of his weight, body hanging limply from the hook. Something jerked in Will’s left shoulder, drawing another scream from him. His toes grazed the floor, struggling to catch. It took a long moment for him to be still again, and the moment he was… Hannibal brought the whip down again.

Will’s back was bloody. He could feel the liquid trickling down his spine, over the curve of his ass, down his thighs. His throat was hoarse from Hannibal’s unyielding grasp. He thought he might be screaming.

Will’s body was on fire. His brain was melting. It took him a long moment to realize Hannibal had stopped, and only then because Hannibal renewed his agony, pulling Will back against his chest and shoving three fingers unceremoniously into him. Will struggled to relax, he knew it would be so much easier if he let Hannibal in, but his body betrayed him, clenching painfully around the intrusion. Will squirmed against Hannibal, sobbing as he was opened up with dry, unyielding fingers.

“You are exquisite in your pain,” Hannibal murmured into his ear, nipping harshly at the soft tissue. “I may have to whip you again.” He crooked his fingers, rubbing mercilessly against Will’s prostate. Will’s erection had flagged from the pain, and now it gave a helpless twitch, Will’s body unable to decide if it felt pleasure or agony.

“No,” Will moaned, beyond reason, beyond control. He shook his head, jerking against Hannibal. “No no no no-“

“Yes,” Hannibal assured him, pulling his fingers out and wiping them against Will’s hip. Will could see traces of blood left against his skin. “As much and as often as I like, wasn’t that the deal?”

It was, and Will wanted it and feared it. Loved Hannibal and hated him. Will shook his head and sobbed. Hannibal’s hand wrapped around his throat again.

Hannibal fucked Will like an animal, rocking Will’s body with his harsh thrusts. He kept a tight grip on Will’s throat, never allowing him a proper breath. His other hand dug lines across Will’s chest, pinched at his nipples until Will howled with the pain.

Will felt like he was dying. He couldn’t breathe. He must have been bleeding out, he had to be, he could feel it, the deep cuts soaking his thighs. Or maybe he was losing his mind. It would have taken a lot more than even a heavy whipping to exsanguinate him, but he could _feel_ it, he was saturated. His heart was racing, pumping his blood through his veins, through his wounds.

“Your life in my hands,” Hannibal murmured, and Will could no longer tell if it was part of the game. “You offer yourself to me, and I…”

Whatever he said was lost. Will drifted in and out of focus, chest heaving. Hannibal left his chest alone, gripping at his cock instead, coaxing a confused hardness out of Will. He brushed against Will’s prostate with every thrust, sparks of muted pleasure.

“Please,“ Will begged, a desperate, needy whisper. “Please, Hannibal, I-“ He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. His breath came in shattered rasps. The world was spinning, blurred at the corners. Hannibal was everything, reaper and ripper and god.

“I know what you need,” Hannibal assured him, and cut his air off entirely, lifting Will’s feet off the ground.

Will was suspended. Breathless, weightless. Pain and pleasure magnified as his pulse beat painfully inside his skull. His vision dimmed. Hannibal twisted his hand at the head of Will’s cock, and Will was coming, coming- _gone_.

_____

Will woke alone, hanging limply from the hook. His body was screaming. He thought he may have dislocated one of his shoulders; it screamed at him as he tried to get his feet back on the floor.

He didn’t know how long he’d been there. It couldn’t have been too long; the body tended to rouse itself from unconsciousness fairly quickly, but there was no sign of Hannibal. Will’s thighs were tacky with blood and semen, body chilled from the thick layer of sweat.

He hung there, left out to dry. Left alone, aching.

“Hannibal,” He tried to shout, but his throat clenched dryly around the words, sharp pain shooting through him. Will whimpered and started to shake.

Hannibal would not have abandoned him. This was part of the game. Will knew it, logically, but fear had iced over his rationality. He bit down hard on his lip, counting seconds for as long as he could focus.

339 seconds, long enough that Will thought for sure he must have lost count, and the door swung open. Hannibal came down the stairs, a thick blanket thrown over his arm. He wrapped Will in the blanket, lowering him carefully to the floor.

“My arm-“ Will tried to explain, cut off with a scream as Hannibal braced him against the floor and popped the joint back into place. Hannibal hushed him, carding a hand through Will’s sweat-soaked curls.

“Beautiful boy,” Hannibal praised, “You did so well.”

It was the same as it always was, after. Hannibal hoisted him up into a bridal carry, tucking Will’s face against his shoulder. Will had thought, somehow, that it might be different, but Hannibal loved him the way he always had.

It turned out that Hannibal’s disappearance had been directly related to after care. Will sank into a hot bath with only a few pained hitches of breath, tears streaming as the cuts were exposed to the water. Too exhausted to scream, to do much more than sink back against the bath pillow Hannibal had provided and allow Hannibal to care for him.

Hannibal loved to bathe Will, lived for it. He doted on Will’s skin and hair the same way he doted on a meal, with careful, elegant touches. It was almost enough to distract from the pain.

“I thought you’d killed me,” Will whispered, as Hannibal carefully scrubbed at the scratches on his chest. “I thought I was suffocating.”

Hannibal hesitated. “Your death is not something I could outlive,” he finally said, “Not anymore.”

“Good,” Will said, lifting his hand from the water. It took two tries to grip Hannibal’s shirt, but Hannibal was easily moved, allowing Will to drag him down for a damp, weak kiss.

“Are you going to do it again?” Will asked, rubbing at his throat with his free hand.

Hannibal glanced away. “Would you like that?”

“Answer the question, Hannibal.”

“That is my answer,” Hannibal said firmly, “I pushed too far today. I… I frightened you.”

Will settled a hand on Hannibal’s wrist. “Never more than I wanted to be frightened,” He swore.

Hannibal fumbled for his pocket. He came up with a familiar box, small and square. “If you want it back…”

Will took the box and chucked it to the bottom of the bath. It stretched his shoulder and sent screaming pain down his back, but it was worth it for the look of wonder on Hannibal’s face.

_____

Will huffed and rolled onto his side. He couldn’t sleep. Lately, his chest had started to feel tight, his breath had come shorter. He was downing tums the way he used to down aspirin and still felt like he was going to throw up.

Will rolled over again with a slightly louder grumble of frustration.

Hannibal blinked awake, frowning at Will’s expression. He paused, took a deep breath. Then another. He shifted down the bed, tugging at the hem of Will’s sleep shirt.

“What- Hey!” Will couldn’t help but laugh, pressing at Hannibal’s shoulders. “That tickles, knock it off.”

Hannibal pressed his face to Will’s stomach and inhaled again. When he pulled back, a trickle of worry had worked its way onto his face. “Your kidney is failing,” He said, soft and thick with concern, “Something had seemed off, lately, but I wasn’t sure…”

Will sobered up immediately, staring down at Hannibal, at the scarred expanse of his stomach. The decision was made before he even realized he had a choice. “Well,” Will said, carding a hand through Hannibal’s mussed hair, “I guess you’ll have to take it out, then.”

Hannibal’s breath caught in his throat, sudden silence, deafening in the dark room. He knew, immediately, what Will was offering. He rolled Will onto his back, pinning him to the bed. Will could feel the full length of his erection through his silk lounge pants. He grinned, rolling his hips up to meet Hannibal’s.

“Would you like that?” Will asked with a wild grin, “Want to put your hands inside of me?”

The growl started low in Hannibal’s chest. He kissed Will’s smile away, tugging at his lip with sharp teeth.

“I’ll let you eat it,” Will whispered, “If there’s anything that can be salvaged. I’ll let you feed it to me.”

“There won’t be,” Hannibal said, sounding mournful, “If its failing, then it won’t be edible.”

“Then you’ll just have to take your time with the surgery. As much time as you want.”

Hannibal’s next inhale was a shuddery, wet sound. He pressed damp lips to Will’s throat, kissing, caressing. “You are a wonder, Will Graham.”

_____

The anesthetic had been an argument. Will had wanted none. How could this be any worse than the things they’d done together, than whipping Will until he screamed, ripping him apart? Hannibal had pointed out that surgery was a risky maneuver, and not the type of pain Will was used to. He’d wanted to put Will under completely. but Will had refused to miss a second, a single expression on Hannibal’s face.

They compromised. Will had been thoroughly chained down, arms bound above his head, chest and hips held still with thick leather straps. He was numb everywhere. He felt vague pressure, when Hannibal ran a gloved hand over his stomach, but little else. The medication slowed Will’s responses, made it difficult to follow Hannibal as he circled.

Hannibal had offered Will his safeword back. Will had said something so obscene that Hannibal had threatened to cut his tongue out as well.

“I’ll let you back out,” Hannibal told him, pressing a kiss to his hair, “If you would like, we can wait. I’ll put you under properly, you’ll wake up entirely whole, except for the kidney.”

Will said something that sounded an awful lot like ‘fuck that,’ albeit very slurred. Hannibal smiled and pressed another kiss to Will’s slack mouth, sliding his tongue between his parted lips, tasting him. Will opened up for him, weak in his efforts to return the affection. If anything, his pathetic attempts seemed to spur Hannibal on further.

“Beautiful,” Hannibal praised. He’d never said anything he didn’t mean. Will would have flushed with pleasure, had he been able.

Hannibal had been thorough in his preparations. He wiped over Will’s stomach, carefully cleaning the chosen incision site. Will expected the harsh chill of iodine and got nothing. It was disconcerting. Hannibal picked up the scalpel and Will’s heart stuttered, as it always did when Hannibal was armed. The physical signs of Will’s arousal never arrived, however. The rest of his body was kept still under the heavy sedation. Will felt like he was floating.

Hannibal brought the scalpel down. Will watched a bead of blood bubble up, and felt _nothing_. He whimpered.

“Hush, darling,” Hannibal murmured, distracted by the way Will’s skin parted for him. “It’s too late now, you’re already opened up.”

Will didn’t want to back out, but his lips would not form the reassurances. He wanted to be right where he was, watching the slow-dawning glee overtake Hannibal’s face, as he clamped the incision open and slowly started to press his way inside.

Will had known not to expect much, but he still felt an odd sort of pressure as Hannibal made his home inside Will’s body, his fingers grazing over muscle and organs as if they belonged there. A feeling almost like a shudder ran through Will, although his body did little more than twitch.

“I can feel your heartbeat,” Hannibal murmured, “I could hold your heart in my hands.”

Will’s heart chose that moment to thump through a double-time rhythm, missing more beats than it hit. Hannibal smiled and ran his free hand over Will’s chest, soothing over the place that hid his heart from view. “Perhaps another time,” He said, busying himself with the incision once more.

It was almost nauseating to watch. Hannibal had to alternate, one moment carefully snipping and clamping the veins he needed to cut, the next carefully suctioning away the excess blood that spilled over. There was a reason surgery was typically done with nurses around, and Will could not help a hint of anxiety at the sight.

Nor could he help his arousal, little though his body showed it. This was Hannibal, in his element. The Chesapeake Ripper at play, careful surgical precision entwined with a sadist’s joy. Hannibal took his time, taking up space in Will’s abdomen, pressing and tugging, leaving his mark in each little cut.

The blue of the surgical glove was completely gone when Hannibal finally removed his hand, holding Will’s kidney in his reddened grasp. It looked like any other kidney, really. Offal from a deer, or a cow. It didn’t look diseased, although Hannibal’s nose had wrinkled in disgust once it was pulled into the open air.

Hannibal had already prepared a cooler. He sealed the kidney into a Ziploc bag and set it aside, turning back to Will. The front of his pants had tented obscenely. The Ripper had never been a sexual sadist, never assaulted his victims in that manner. But when it came to Will, Hannibal had always wanted to take anything he could.

“Yes,” Will tried to tell him. Yes, he could. Will would let him. Hannibal smiled and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“After you’re whole again,” He promised, “It would devastate me to see you bleed out, now.”

And indeed, the stain that would one day cover the basement floor came from an entirely different game. For now, Hannibal stitched him up, slow and careful. He taped over the incision with gauze, and then placed a dry kiss over the gauze itself. Will moaned, a dull ache slowly making itself known as the anesthetic began to wear off.

“I know,” Hannibal soothed, stripping away his gloves. He stepped away to wash his hands, and when he returned, he’d brought a familiar tube from their bedside table.

Will couldn’t manage full hardness, between the remaining traces of anesthetic and the pain that was creeping into his awareness, but that did not stop Hannibal from catering to him. While his fingers worked Will open, his mouth attended to Will’s cock, licking and sucking as much as Will could offer him. He drew little moans to Will’s mouth, and soft twitches to his hips and stomach. Will’s eyes fluttered closed.

He opened for Hannibal easier than he ever had before, his body forced to relax. Hannibal propped himself up on the operating table, carefully braced over Will, avoiding the bandages. He pressed soft kisses to the corner of Will’s eyes, until they opened to stare back at him, hazy, but yearning.

Hannibal fit inside him, thick and hot. He filled Will in slow, careful strokes that lit a fire in Will’s belly, motions that slowly pulled at Will’s awareness, until he could feel everything, pain and pleasure both. Will’s hands fluttered uselessly in their restraints, eager to touch.

“Still,” Hannibal commanded, sucking a mark below Will’s jaw, “Let me do the work. You’ll rip your stitches.”

That seemed unlikely with the way Hannibal had him bound, but Will submitted regardless, letting Hannibal move them both, deep thrusts that sent sparks through him.

He wasn’t going to come, much as he wanted to, but Will floated in a haze of sensation. He ached where Hannibal had cut into him, but even that could not drown out the pleasure completely.

“Beautiful, vicious creature.” Hannibal whispered against his throat, gripping tight to Will’s hips as he came, marking Will up, laying claim to him in a way no one else ever would.

_____

“They’ve found us,” Hannibal told Will one day. He told him with the knife to his throat, with Will bent over the bed, chained down. As if the pleasure could outweigh the sudden, stabbing pain. For a moment, Will thought Hannibal had taken the knife and shoved it right through his spine.

And then he struggled, kicking his feet and yanking at the chains that held him. Hannibal was patient through it, unmoving, buried thick inside Will.

“What the fuck are we waiting for?” Will protested, locking his leg around Hannibal’s. Hannibal shook him off with an almost _insulting_ lack of effort. “Hannibal, we have to go.”

“I’m not going,” Hannibal told him, silencing him with a sudden flick of the knife against his collarbone. Will’s blood against soft green sheets. Will shuddered. “I cannot evade them forever. It’s only a matter of time before they find the house.”

“By which point we’ll be long gone.”

“No,” Hannibal said, firm and unyielding. He grabbed Will by the hair, arching him back to whisper against his jaw. “I need you to listen to me, Will. No fighting, not this time. If we run, they will catch us.”

“Not if we’re faster,” Will insisted, but Hannibal would not be moved.

“They won’t be expecting the other boat. And despite the efforts of Tattlecrime.com, the FBI has never known what to make of your disappearance.”

“You intend to distract them.”

“We do have a package in the freezer that I’ve been saving.”

“Hannibal-“With a start, Will realized the back of his neck was damp. Hannibal had only ever cried at the opera. Without seeing him, Will was not sure he believed he was crying _now_. But the dampness gave him pause, crept under his skin and lingered. He bowed his head as far as Hannibal’s grip would allow. Submitted.

“Don’t let me forget.”

Hannibal traced the knife down his spine, and obliged.

_____

They packed up the dogs, and every trace of them. Will would drop them off somewhere else, for safekeeping, while he plotted.

But he hesitated in the doorway, uncertain. Will wanted to argue. He wanted to stay here, to submit to Jack Crawfords whims. To never be separated from Hannibal, even if it meant a life behind bars. It was on the tip of his tongue to say the word, _Chesapeake_ , to shatter the illusion of obedience he’d built.

But Will knew that Jack would do whatever it took to keep them as far apart as possible. And he suspected that to use his safeword now, when he’d given it up, willingly, when he’d never had cause before…

If Hannibal had to drug Will and carry him to the goddamn boat himself, Will suspected he would. Despite Will’s protests.

“I don’t want to go,” Will said anyway, though they were far past that, at this point.

“The dogs are waiting for you,” Hannibal reminded him.

Will kissed him goodbye. It was not passionate, or rough. Just a brush of lips. Chaste. “I’ll see you soon,” He promised, “Even if I have to burn down the whole fucking city.”

“I have faith in you,” Hannibal said, “And if the ones standing in your way are old friends?”

Will grinned, malicious and bitter. “I’ll eat Jack’s heart for you,” He promised, “And Alana’s, should she be dumb enough to stick around. If I have to tear him apart with my teeth, I will.”

“Vicious boy,” Hannibal praised, and kissed him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the most graphic and kinda gross thing I've ever written I love it. I should have saved this for JFMU, but since I wasn't even patient enough to save it for TOMORROW, that was never gonna happen. 
> 
> Will and Hannibal are idiots who are going to accidentally get seriously hurt one day omg. 
> 
> Yes, in that first scene Will was referring to having had sex with men before, and Hannibal was NOT pleased. 
> 
> As with Changing the Rules, I will remind y'all to NOT SPRING SEXY VIOLENCE ON YOUR PARTNERS WITHOUT DISCUSSING IT FIRST. DON'T DO THAT. SAFEWORDS. COMMUNICATION. TRUST.
> 
> Will and Hannibal have two boats, a small one for traveling to the mainland for groceries/opera/other, and a large one for fishing. Will took the dogs on the fishing boat. 
> 
> Next time: Back in the present, Will is really mad, Jack is really frustrated, and there will be blood as our story comes to a close.


	3. Chapter 3

Frederick Chilton’s body showed up four days after he went missing. Post-mortem examination of bruises and other wounds showed he’d been alive for three of those days.

He showed up on Jack’s doorstep. Jack woke up to the neighbors screaming.

It was only a body by the loosest definition of the word. Whatever semblance of life Chilton had recovered with skin grafts and therapy was gone. He was even more unrecognizable than he had become, sliced into pieces and left in a bloodless pile. There were bites taken out of him, places where someone had literally sunk their teeth into him and swallowed the pieces that pulled away.

They pulled Will Graham’s dental records, but the comparisons were unnecessary. Fredrick was also missing a kidney.

In the lab, Jack tried to figure out what he was looking at. Here an arm, there a leg. Organs rearranged and haphazardly shoved back into the abdominal cavity. For a fisherman, Will was not very patient. Perhaps he was growing desperate without Hannibal there to guide his enthusiasm. Good. Desperate people made mistakes.

“Burn victims often report severe nerve damage. Chilton himself mentioned his sense of touch was incredibly dulled,” Price explained.

“He got on everybody else’s nerves,” Zeller muttered, “Will needed all three days to find some he could still press.”

He sounded like Will when he said it. Will’s bitter and too-accurate observations of killers, of ripping people open to get a good sound out of them. Jack made a mental note to force some vacation time on the both of them, when this was finally over.

Lounds was waiting when he stepped outside, red knee-high boots and a little black dress. She looked perfectly put together, unless you looked close enough to see her hands were trembling where they gripped the recorder.

“Too close to home?” Jack asked her. She glared at him, pushing the recorder closer to his face.

“I’m just here for a statement, Jack. It was Graham, wasn’t it?” There was lipstick on her teeth. In all the years he’d known her, with the exception of the time he’d caught her after a shower, Jack had never seen her with a hair out of place. Besides the ones she left all over crime scenes.

“No comment,” Jack told her, turning towards his car.

Lounds trailed him across the parking lot, a lost, angry little duckling. “I warned you all,” She said, “For years, I told you Graham was dangerous.”

“You also lied about how dangerous he was, under oath.”

“You can’t prove that.”

They were both defensive. It was automatic at this point, more instinct than any real faith. Lounds knew what he thought of her, and Jack knew what had become of Will Graham. Yet here they were, same old song and dance.

“A statement, Jack. Just a sentence. A tiny sound bite for my readers.”

“A sound bite to help you sleep at night,” Jack scoffed, fumbling with his keys.

“When Graham chased Lecter across the Atlantic, I told you. The Murder Husbands, on their Italian honeymoon. You didn’t listen, and now you’ve ripped Lecter right out of the arms of his vicious little bride. ‘Hell hath no fury,’ Jack. Give me a statement.”

Jack slammed his door shut. “You don’t want a statement,” He growled, “You want to know if you’re next.”

Lounds blinked up at him. She was a tiny thing, despite the heels. Jack could have crushed her. This new, violent Will would devour her whole. Jack felt a sudden stab of pity.

“You didn’t do much to ingratiate yourself to Will while he was still the man I trusted,” Jack said, soft and gentle as he could manage for Freddie Lounds, “And now you want to know what sort of man he’s become, if you should expect him to come calling. I can’t tell you about the body, Lounds, you know that. I can’t tell you anything more than you learned from standing at the police line: Frederick Chilton, on my doorstep. What I _can_ tell you, and what I hope you’ll listen to, is this: Let it die, Freddie.”

She gaped at him. Her little gloved hand was still shaking. She was a grown woman, laugh lines creeping in around the edges, but looking at her now, Jack felt strangely paternal.

“Let it die,” He said again, “Don’t write about the Murder Husbands. Don’t write about Will Graham. Go underground.”

“I have a duty to my readers,” She said. She sounded unsure.

“You have a duty to yourself, first and foremost. Don’t antagonize him, Freddie. Let it die.”

He left her standing there, looking lost in the parking lot. She looked thoughtful. Concerned.

It didn’t do her any good. Lounds ran the article anyway, a half-hearted attempt at reframing Jack’s warning into an ‘interview.’ It was the last article she ever ran.

They found her body a week later, hands smashed until the bones were nothing more than shards. They never found her tongue.

_____

 _“You couldn’t get me to set foot in that institution if you paid me,”_ Alana told Jack when he called, _“And I’m afraid my idea of a fair wage is a bit higher than it used to be.”_

“The inmates have gone wild without you or Chilton to watch out for them,” Jack tried, “They have a new guy, they’ve already chewed him up and spit him back out. Lecter made him _cry._ You were always good with him.”

_“I gave him what he wanted, and in return, he was kind enough to keep his nails filed while he dug around inside my head. Nobody is good with Hannibal, Jack.”_

“I can’t do this without you, Alana.”

 _“You’re not talking about running the hospital anymore.”_ Alana’s voice was razor-sharp, filled with a bitterness she’d cultivated over the years. Sometimes she sounded far more Verger than Bloom. _“You don’t want me to keep Hannibal **in**. You’re hoping I can keep Will Graham **out**.”_

“You always excelled at analysis.”

Alana chuckled. There was little humor in it. _“There is no love lost between me and Will, Jack. Whatever fondness he felt for me was destroyed years ago.”_

“He was fond of you the last time you spoke.”

_“The last time I spoke to Will ,he  was manipulating you and I so he could get Hannibal out of prison. Maybe he hadn’t yet decided what he was going to do with him when he succeeded, maybe he still thought he was going to kill him, but regardless, Hannibal’s escape was no surprise to Will.”_

Jack was silent. It was a truth that had lingered in the back of his mind for years. A truth he had preferred to leave buried.

 _“Jack,”_ Alana said. Her voice held the same softness Jack had used on Freddie Lounds. He bristled to have it used against him. _“Don’t get involved. Don’t become a part of this. There’s no justice to be found here. There are no walls that will hold Hannibal Lecter, not with friends on the outside. And there are **always** friends on the outside.”_

“Will is leaving a trail of bodies that point straight towards Hannibal Lecter,” Jack argued, “I became a part of this the second I set him into Lecter’s path.”

“ _Will will destroy anything in his path,”_ Alana hissed, _“He will burn the world down to get to Hannibal, because it **excites** him. Because it will please Hannibal.”_

“Will was never a people pleaser.”

 _“And yet he was never happier than when he had Hannibal’s full and complete attention. He’s an excellent fisherman, Jack, but now he’s learned to hunt, from a man who can walk through walls and into your head. Don’t be the prey Will stalks._ ”

“I’m not going to walk away from this! Hannibal Lecter will walk free over my dead body!”

Alana laughed, sharp and bitter. “ _He’ll be glad to hear that, Jack. Don’t forget the salt.”_

“Alana…”

“ _We’re moving again. Changing our names and numbers, getting as far out of Will and Hannibal’s radar as we can. You would be wise to do the same. Don’t try to find us again.”_ The click was abrupt, nearly mid-word. Jack stared at his phone.

Fine. He’d do it alone.

_____

The hospital was under new management. Perpetually. Jack didn’t qualify for psychiatric positions, but he had enough paid vacation saved up to park himself in the director’s office for a good long while. It was the perfect seat to watch the ever-rotating sea of employees. People had a habit of quitting, when they were assigned to Lecter. Or dying off. In the first week Jack was there, he witnessed two walk-outs, a no-call no-show that turned out to be a suicide, and a fatal assault by the inmate in the cell next to Lecter’s.

They moved Lecter to an empty ward and stationed two guards so no one was ever alone with him. “We should have done it from the beginning,” The director, a man by the name of ‘Hoss,’ explained, “But we thought he would see it as a privilege.”

Doctor Hoss was a spineless little man, all the worst parts of Frederick Chilton without any of the immodest confidence, but he was correct. Lecter _flourished_ in isolation, as if he’d been given all the trappings he enjoyed under Alana’s care, rather than a cot and a toilet in an empty box. He smiled more, was pleasant to the guards who rotated shifts regularly. He asked after Jack, who did not visit. For an entire week, he was kind and courteous. Jack began to worry that he would run out of PTO before Will made his move.

Then one of Lecter’s guards was found strung up in an abandoned warehouse, holding his heart in his hands. He was missing his liver and his keycards. Doctor Hoss began to panic.

_____

“What do you mean, you’re _moving_ Lecter?” Jack liked to think he’d settled a bit, in his late-middle-age. .He felt as though Bella’s passing had mellowed him, as if everything was a bit more muted without her, even rage. The light had gone from Jack’s world, but so had shadow and ire.

Now, though, he was definitely ‘bellowing.’ Doctor Hoss sat at his desk and ‘worked,’ which appeared to consist largely of sharpening pencils in as much time as humanly possible. He would not look Jack in the eye. Spineless little-

“He’s a threat to the entire staff,” Doctor Hoss said stubbornly, “We cannot afford to keep hiring. We hardly have any applicants as-is.”

“This is just what Will wants. You send Lecter out there, and he’ll pounce.”

“It’s already arranged. We’ll be doing it in secret. No fuss, no fanfare. We’ll be slipping out at night. The guards assigned believe themselves to be guarding an entirely different prisoner, so they won’t be able to brag. There will be nothing to draw attention to the transport, no flashing signs like last time.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means we won’t be advertising Lecter’s presence with a police escort,” Doctor Hoss muttered. “The Tooth Fairy or the Dragon or whatever you called him, he caught your scent from miles away because you made a huge production of it. If Lecter is heavily sedated, we won’t need the escort.”

Jack gaped at the man. “You may as well leave him out on the street with a suitcase and a plane ticket,” He finally said. “You’re leading Will Graham right to him.”

“Nobody outside of this room knows that Lecter is moving,” Doctor Hoss insisted, “He’ll be long gone before Will Graham ever suspects a thing.”

“You’re an idiot,” Jack hissed, “And you’re going to get all of your employees killed.”

“On the contrary,” Doctor Hoss said with a smile, “I’m the only person smart enough to put as much distance between themselves and Hannibal Lecter as possible.”

Doctor Hoss tried to keep things as private as possible, but Jack knew the full details of the transport well before it happened. And if he knew, Will certainly did.

_____

The night Lecter was moved, Jack lurked outside the hospital in a rented car. He trailed the van from a distance, keeping the tail lights in his vision. He didn’t know what Will’s plan would be, but he had a firearm tucked into his belt and plenty of caffeine.

In a patch of woods in Virginia, /the transport van’s driver-side window burst into a haze of shattered glass. Gunfire. The van swerved into a ditch. Jack scrambled to get in a call for back up, pulling off the road into the dark cover of a thatch of bushes. He loaded the gun. He waited.

____

Will had waited. Too long, too much. His heart was racing as he unlatched the back door of the van.

“Don’t move!”

There were two guards in the backseat with Hannibal. One had fallen and smacked his head against the bench seat when the van swerved; he was unconscious already, with a trickle of blood dribbling down the side of his face. The other had his gun trained on Will. His hand shook.

“Stay back,” The man said again, but Will only had eyes for the man behind him.

They had not bothered with a cage this time. A straitjacket and irons were enough, when they’d drugged him to the gills. Hannibal looked barely conscious. As Will watched, his glassy eyes locked onto Will, and then dilated out of focus once more.

Will felt another burst of fury. Hannibal was the most brilliant man he’d ever met. To see him like this, dazed and unaware, was _wrong_ in a way Will couldn’t even begin to describe.

But then… Will tilted his head, calculated. Watched the steady rise and fall of Hannibal’s shoulders. The tremble of the guard’s finger on the trigger. Not like the guard Will had killed, no, not at all. A last resort. Hired from a dwindling pool of volunteers. Underpaid and overworked, completely unaware that it was Hannibal Lecter he’d be transporting, and very displeased about it. Virginal, when it came to death. Meant to keep the inmates from getting out of line and throwing their food out the bars. Not made to face down the reaper himself.

Will took a step closer. The man whimpered. Did a calculation of his own. Will showed no sign of self-preservation, but everybody knew his weak spot. The guard turned his gun on Hannibal.

“Don’t take another _step_.” This time, the guard said it with confidence. Safety assured. Will would not jeopardize his freedom to come for Hannibal, only to let a stranger shoot him. Will watched him. Tilted his head.

Hannibal wobbled slightly. His chains were restrictive, but not immobilizing. He drooped in them now, unable to keep his head up. The guard smirked and reached for his walkie.

Hannibal was not immune to sedatives, but he was _experienced_. He lunged as far forward as his restraints, both chemical and physical, would allow. It was less an actual motion, and more allowing himself to fall, letting the weight of his body do what his muscles would not. It was just enough to knock the guard’s arm aside, throw of his aim.

Of all the people Will had torn through to get to Hannibal, this man caught his rage the most. The final barricade between himself and Hannibal, too dumb to step aside and let Will leave with what he’d come for. Will wrapped himself around the man’s back, wrenching his arm back until he screamed and dropped his weapon. Over the guard’s shoulder, he met Hannibal’s hazy gaze. Jealousy and fierce pride beneath a thick layer of fog. Aware enough to offer praise with his eyes, even as they narrowed when Will set his lips to the man’s throat.

“You’d be dead anyway,” Will assured the man, “No one who’s touched me since we left has lived to brag about it. Really, you’re lucky it’s me instead of him. Should have called in sick.” With every word, Will’s lips brushed a hummingbird thrum of a heartbeat. Will tilted his head, as if to suck a lover’s bruise, just under the jaw where his pulse was the strongest. Will tore that part out with his teeth, sharp and quick. The man would suffer, but not unduly so. Will had not been lying; Hannibal would have done it slower. Smaller bites. Will never took the time to savor a meal, too excited for the next course.

The next course was Hannibal, leaning forward in his seat, wavering as he tried to watch Will. He was barely awake, but too stubborn to sleep. Hannibal had developed a fondness for Will covered in blood. No doubt he was only disappointed he hadn’t put it there himself. Will couldn’t help a smile.

“Later,” He promised, fishing keys from the nearest pocket. “Later, I’ll show you the scars Freddie Lounds left me, so you can rip them back open. She fought with her teeth. You would have been proud of her. Probably would’ve cooked her better, too, I think I seared the meat too long.”

Hannibal hummed in sleepy acknowledgement. Will went for the mask, first. He’d waited too long.

The kiss was more blood than passion, Will’s victim slick between their mouths, Hannibal’s slack and tasting thickly of sleep and copper. Will could feel him struggling to respond, to taste.

It was not that he’d never felt he had power over Hannibal. On the contrary, whatever their dynamic, Will knew that he commanded Hannibal with every angle of his body, every quirk of his lips, every cut of his knife into a victim. Hannibal orbited him like Will was the sun itself, and in return, Will offered him a gift.

Now, though, the power was entirely in Will’s hand. Power over life and death, escape and incarceration, freedom and suffering. He hated it. He would gladly have put his life right back into Hannibal’s hands.

As it turned out, someone else was grasping at the threads that dangled from the tapestry of fate. The thunk of a boot on the bumper, expected. Welcome. Will had been waiting for this reunion for far too long. He grinned, and let his hands fall away from the chains that held Hannibal in place. “Hello, Jack.”

A beat of silence. Jack’s voice, gruff and familiar. “Step away from him, Will.”

Will set the keys down on the bench beside Hannibal and turned, straightening up.

Will had caught glimpses of Jack in the past few weeks, in passing, in his peripheral. Setting up Chilton’s body on the doorstep, he’d watched Jack’s outline wake for a 2AM bathroom run. It had not prepared him for seeing Jack, face to face.

He’d grown old before his time, face creased with the lines of age, of laughter. Worry. His hair was pure white, now, and he looked… tired.

Will knew what he looked like, in contrast. He was aging gracefully into his mid-forties. Until he’d been forced to return to the states, he’d been well tanned, leanly muscled. The only real ‘blemish’ were the scars which covered every clothed inch of him, some decorative and some situational. Will did not regard them as a ‘blemish’ He felt beautiful, powerful in a way he’d never felt before.

He’d ended up a lot better than Jack had. For a moment, a thick knot of guilt tied itself in Will’s chest. Not regret, no, he could never regret Hannibal or what had brought them to this point. But he could feel a pang of sorrow for what it had done to Jack.

For what else he was about to do to Jack.

“It doesn’t have to be like this, Jack.” Will raised his hands, cautious and slow.

“Maybe it didn’t, before,” Jack said, “When we were friends.”

“I still considered you a friend,” Will admitted, “You’d have been welcomed at the table, right up until you took him from me.”

“’At’ or ‘on?’” Jack growled.

“At, Jack, of course.”

“I know what was served at that table, Will. What you’ve been feasting on since you came back.”

Will grinned. He was sure he looked quite a sight, blood drying on his face, teeth stained red. Smiling like a goddamn horror movie villain.

“Hannibal once gave Alana a choice. I’ll give you the same one, Jack, with the same consequences. Be blind. Don’t be brave.”

“I’ve got you empty handed,” Jack said, “Empty handed, at gunpoint, in the back of a _prison transport van_.”

“You’re missing something, Jack. You work for the FBI. Surely, you should be more observant.”

“And what,” Jack spat, “Am I missing?”

Will dropped his hands, and any pretense of fear. “I didn’t shoot the driver.”

The bullet hit Jack in the shoulder. There was a poetic justice about that. His arm jerked, then gave out with the rest of his body. The gun hit the ground, skidding along the floor. Will kicked it under the bench seat, stepping forward to tower over where Jack knelt.

“You should have been blind,” He said. “Or better yet, you should have listened to me years ago.”

Jack blinked up at him, hazy with pain. It was not a deadly wound, but Jack’s fate was already stitched into place, and he clearly knew it. “I never should have introduced you to Lecter,” He said.

“On the contrary,” Will told him, “That’s the only thing saving you from him.”

Will cupped Jack’s face, looked him in the eyes. He allowed himself a moment, just one, to mourn. Then he shifted his grip and twisted.

Jack’s neck snapped easily. He was dead before he hit the ground. Will straightened up, dusting his hands off. “But not from me,” He told the corpse. He had promised a reckoning, sworn to eat the heart of anyone who stood between them. But now, with Jack before him and Hannibal behind… Will was tired. He just wanted to go home. He turned his back on an old friend and stepped forward to help Hannibal.

Hannibal had tried and failed to release himself, sluggish from the drugs and thoroughly restrained by the straitjacket. Will admired his tenacity, if not his stubbornness. He freed him easily, helping him into a standing position. Hannibal leaned on him, as heavy as he’d been when Will dragged him from the ocean years ago.

“Thank you,” Will called.

“My debt to you is more than repaid,” Chiyoh told him, lingering outside the van. She glared at the bodies. “I will help you to the boat, and then we will go our separate ways. You will not call on me again.” She hesitated, her sharp eyes landing on Hannibal’s concerned features. “Either of you.”

Hannibal mumbled something that Will assumed was positive, though he could not be certain. “Of course,” Will translated anyway, “We’re grateful for your help. The money I promised you is already in your account.”

Chiyoh frowned and turned to stalk back towards their car. She did not offer to help guide Hannibal through the trees, and Will did not dare ask her.

_____

The bed was large, oversized for such a small boat. It dominated much of the cabin, what parts weren’t devoted to dining and plumbing. Will tucked Hannibal into it with a fond smile and a kiss to his forehead. No doubt he’d be thrilled by the extravagance, even if the kitchen area left much to be desired.

Hannibal slept well into the next morning, until they’d slipped out of American territory and into international waters. Despite her words, Will knew Chiyoh lingered. She would not feel secure until Hannibal was safe in their new home. Hannibal had been practically _begging_ to return to Europe, and while Chiyoh and Will had chosen the house specifically for its isolation, the beauty of the woods could not be understated. Hannibal would be happy there, at least for a little while.

And they could be as loud as they wanted. Will looked forward to that.

The sun was well up by the time Will finally let himself give in. They were far enough out that he could let himself rest, at least for a little bit. Hannibal would no doubt wake him when he finally shook off the sedatives, and Will needed a nap. He crawled into bed, tucking himself up around Hannibal, clutching him close to his chest. Hannibal smelled wrong, cheap hospital soap and bland food. Will wanted to wash his hair under the shower spray, to cook for him and get it wrong and watch Hannibal eat it anyway. He’d missed him. More than it seemed possible to miss anyone. Will _ached_ for Hannibal.

Will fell asleep with his arm slung around Hannibal’s waist. He woke face down in the pillows, with a hand in his hair and teeth against his throat. He hissed out his pleasure, rolling his hips down against the bed. He was hard already, just from the weight of Hannibal bearing him down into the mattress.

“I’ve missed you,” Hannibal breathed against his pulse, “My beautiful, clever boy. I pined for you, alone in my cell, and _you_ let someone else touch you.”

There was a true, honest jealousy to Hannibal’s tone, but a playfulness in the hand that yanked Will’s head back. Will grinned around gritted teeth, more feral lust than anything else.

“Only to get to you,” He promised, “A path to your freedom.”

“You didn’t kill the club owner for me, you killed him to prove a point to Jack.”

“And to make you jealous,” Will said, gleeful from the way Hannibal nipped a warning against his jaw. “Would you like to know how I did it? How I lured him into the shadows? Where I let him touch me?”

The hand in Will’s hair tightened. Hannibal shoved his head forward with a growl. It might have hurt, had the surface below Will not been down pillows.

“Dreadful thing,” Hannibal hissed, shoving Will’s pants and underwear down around his knees, “Tell me.”

Will arched his back, pleading with his body. He grabbed for the hand in his hair, dragging it to the front of his throat. “Here,” He said, “He bought me a drink. Rested his thumb against the beat of my heart and told me what a pretty little slut I was.”

Hannibal’s hand tightened, just enough to make Will’s breath catch. Not constricting, not yet, but warning. Will knew the word was enough to kill the man all over again, that he had looked at what was Hannibal’s and demeaned it so. Will pressed forward into the bed, into Hannibal’s hand.

“Here, too,” He whispered, guiding Hannibal’s hand to the curve of his hip, a slow caress over his ass. “To guide me to his playroom. Pity, he didn’t get to have any fun.”

“Pity,” Hannibal echoed, in a hoarse, raw voice. He lifted up off of Will’s back to deliver a sharp blow to the spot, and then another. Will rolled his hips and cried out his pleasure as Hannibal turned him an uneven shade of red, a bruise over where he’d been touched.

“He kissed, me, too.” Will finally said, and that turned out to be far too much for Hannibal.

Hannibal flipped him onto his back with a sound that might have been a growl, pure rage and possessiveness. He kissed Will with teeth, tugging at his bottom lip hard enough to make Will taste copper. He grabbed Will’s hands, pinning them above his head. This bedframe was not made with their needs in mind, flat and unyielding, no bars or decorative curves, or places where Will had carved and welded himself. It didn’t matter, Will was too relieved to struggle. He let Hannibal pin him down with one heavy hand and cup his jaw with the other. “You let him,” Hannibal hissed, and there was some playfulness to it, but also a genuine ire that Will was ecstatic to have provoked. “You let him put himself all over you. Tell me, Will, would you have let him fuck you, if that was what it took to get his guard down?”

“No,” Will said, with immediate disgust, “But I wonder what you would have done if I had.”

Hannibal smacked him across the face for that one. They did not do playful little swats. Will’s head snapped to the side, already red across the cheekbone. Hannibal backhanded him in the other direction, and Will moaned.

“You are insatiable,” Hannibal muttered, hoisting one of Will’s legs up around his hips. He shoved two fingers into Will’s mouth, tapping impatiently at Will’s tongue.

There was lube in the bedside table, but Hannibal didn’t know that. And Will wasn’t going to tell him. He was getting exactly what he wanted.

“He told me exactly what he wanted to do to me,” Will said, hissing when Hannibal shoved two barely-damp fingers inside him, stretching him out in ways he’d gone without for weeks. “And I thought about what you’d do if you’d been there to hear him.”

A third finger, dry. Everything had hurt, the blows to Will’s face, his ass, the unyielding pressure of Hannibal’s fingers inside him, but only now did Will feel the first stirrings of discomfort. He reveled in it.

“He would have died slowly,” Hannibal promised, pulling his fingers away to spit in his hand. It was disgustingly base for someone usually so put together. Will loved watching Hannibal lose his composure. He loved more when Hannibal crudely slicked his cock and started to press against Will, barely-stretched, unprepared. “I’d have fucked you over top of him, did everything he promised you, while you were tugging at his organs.”

“Yesss…” Will hissed. Hannibal forced his way into him in tiny, agonizing thrusts. Agonizing, both from the pain and from Will’s desire for more. Will took deep breaths, forcing himself to relax. Open up for Hannibal like he had a thousand times before.

It would hurt. It already hurt. Will wanted it to. He arched his back, welcoming Hannibal into himself.

Hannibal tucked his face into Will’s neck, grazing his teeth over the flutter of his pulse. Will tilted his head to bare his throat.

When they fucked, usually, Will fought back. He made Hannibal earn him, made him hold him down, chain him to the bed, force good behavior with every sharp thrust of his hips.

Today, Will welcomed him, gave himself over to Hannibal with the line of his throat and the rough whimpers that dragged themselves from his lips. He begged, wordless, with eyes and mouth, kissing at Hannibal’s arm, braced over his head to pin his wrists. He wanted. He ached.

The motion of their bodies was a burn and a balm, punishment and reward. Will shivered and moaned when Hannibal was gentle, cried out when he was rough. He was huge, imposing, overtaking Will with every motion, and when he came, he sank his teeth into the skin of Will’s throat.

Every other mark had been easy to hide, hidden by clothes, by suits and long sleeves. This was ownership, a declaration, a promise. They would not be separated again. Hannibal’s teeth parted Will’s flesh, a trickle of blood seeping over his lips to stain the bed. Will screamed and sobbed and came, shaking.

It hurt more when it was over, when the high of pleasure could no longer mask the pain. Will’s voice broke when Hannibal pulled out, a harsh groan. There was blood on the sheets, not much, but enough to set a frown to Hannibal’s lips. He ran a soft fingertip over where Will was swollen and sore, tutting his disapproval. “Look what you do to me,” He said, as Will squirmed with the discomfort.

Will grinned up at him, showed all his sharp teeth. “Would you like me to do it again?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was a labor of love, and oh, do I love it. I had *so* much fun writing this, I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> I love Freddie Lounds, I really do. I love characters who are assholes, as long as the narrative acknowledges them as such. I was almost sad to kill her. Almost. She *did* kind of bring it on herself, Jack warned her. 
> 
> (that being said, Jack's totally infantilizing her in that scene. It was done on purpose because it just seemed like a disappointed Dad Jack thing to do, and Jack's perspective does not reflect the author's. Mostly. He WAS saying things Freddie needed to hear.)
> 
> fun fact Alana's scene contains my favorite line in the entire fic, ( "I gave him what he wanted, and in return, he was kind enough to keep his nails filed while he dug around inside my head") and is my second favorite non-Hannigram scene (my favorite being the previous scene with Freddie.)
> 
>  
> 
> Hannibal isn't 'flourishing' in isolation, he's just smug because he still gets newspapers and knows what Will is up to. 
> 
> I actually got stuck on how I was going to get Hannibal *out* of prison, and then I thought about Season Three. The Dragon was able to find them so easily because they had a bunch of cop cars around and he could slide right in with them, so... Let's ditch the security, great idea! (not really sure why they *didn't* drug Hannibal in the show, TBH. I would have.)
> 
> I refuse to believe Hannibal hasn't tested a bunch of sedatives out, for science. In case he was ever captured. Plus, then he can use them on Will if they get bored...
> 
> Hannibal has in fact killed every single person who so much as bumped arms with Will in the market. Will has taken to deliberately provoking it, for fun.
> 
> Will swore he would eat Jack's heart, but honestly, he's eaten SO many people at this point, he's getting a bit full. He just wants to go home with his husband. (They did get married at some point in the last two years, Will was right about the Spring proposal). Plus, he won't admit it, but he misses Jack, and Alana, and his life before running off with Hannibal. He would never exchange the two, life with Hannibal is everything to him, but he does feel a bit mournful that he couldn't bring any of the old life with him. 
> 
> The final sex scene was the first one I wrote for this fic. Will is a manipulative little shit and Hannibal *lives* for it. His only regret is that they couldn't go on a roadtrip to kill all of Will's old boyfriends while in America.
> 
> Thanks for coming to my TED talk. Please don't BDSM this way lol
> 
> Since tumblr imploded you can find me on [my twitter.](https://www.twitter.com/stratumgermani1)


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